


Best out of three

by boopboop



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, M/M, Wade gets his own tag, misappropriated kayaks, silliness, terrible life choices, who left Clint and Bucky unsupervised, yes that is flammable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:06:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7595599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boopboop/pseuds/boopboop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes approximately thirty five minutes to burn down a building. That's a lot less than expected.</p>
<p>Or, Bucky and Clint can't agree on who is the better shot and the only way to find out involves duels, flare guns and stolen (borrowed) kayaks.</p>
<p>Steve is just here for the youtube footage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best out of three

**Author's Note:**

> I had... a pretty awful day today. Then events not too dissimilar to the following story happened and went a long way to cheering me up. I promise no logic, sense (common or otherwise) or angst. Just two lovable idiots doing what idiots do. It's not supposed to be serious in any way shape or form, and I hope you have fun with it <3
> 
> Many cuddly thanks to [Steph](http://www.stephrc79.tumblr.com) for cleaning up my vomit of words and making this something a little more respectable xxx

"There's really only one way to resolve this." 

The room falls suspiciously silent as the words leave Clint's mouth, completely undermining any attempts being made to look like no attention is being paid to the unfolding drama. Clint doesn't notice. He continues to wave the half empty beer bottle in Bucky's face and does an admirable job of not falling off his bar stool as he does so.

Bucky sets down his own bottle. He' hasn’t had more than a mouthful - almost immediately being bested by Clint upon arrival and just as quickly being dragged into the argument. "Probably," he agrees.

Beside him, Steve sets his own bottle down - he's on his fourth and slightly buzzed - so he can put all his effort into trying to be a Serious Officer. "Bucky. Do not do the thing."

Bucky holds up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Take it up with your LT!"

"Clint doesn't listen to me when we are  _ on _ duty," Steve points out.

"I do not listen to him," Clint agrees. "But if your boyfriend doesn't think you can do it..."

Steve wobbles on his stool as he tries to shake his head and wave his hands in a firm denial of Clint's blatant shitstiring. "I didn't say that. At no point did I say that."

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest and smirks. "So you agree that I'm better."

"I..." Steve opens and closes his mouth, then frowns, "am not getting involved."

From the far end of the bar, a voice calls, "Pussy!" and Steve lazily extends his middle finger.

"Fuck off, Wade," he says, not sparing him a glance. He looks back and forth between Bucky and Clint, trying to decide if there is any way he can escape the conflict with either his ego or his reputation intact. On the one hand, he  _ is _ Clint's CO and therefore responsible for every dumbass stunt he pulls; on the other, he and Bucky have been fucking for damn near forever and everyone knows it. Sighing, he turns to Wanda, who is leaning on the opposite side of the bar, grinning. "Can I get a whiskey? A big one?"

Clint and Bucky have gone back to their argument.

"Same place?" Clint asks.

Bucky nods. "Same rules?"

"Of course. Winner pays the loser's medical bills?"

"Agreed."

Steve gives Wanda his most pitiful look. "Can I just buy the bottle?"

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Steve is well on his way to utterly fucked and finding the idea a whole lot more fun. He's taken a spot on one of the bleachers and stretches his legs out while Bucky and Clint make their preparations.

Word has spread throughout the barracks and now there’s a not so small crowd of people who want to see the two infamous snipers of Delta Unit and Alpha Unit square off under the most serious of circumstances.

Steve, as the Captain of Delta Unit, has called Natasha, Captain of Alpha Unit, and now both sides are suitably prepared for any death, dismemberment or destruction of property. Both of their units have arrived and taken spots on either side of the indoor pool. (Mostly) good natured threats are being shouted from one side of the room to the other - suggestions of maiming and drowning swapped back and forth while the younger, less experienced spectators switch between staring at Bucky and Clint and trying to decide how fucking nuts they both are, and looking at Nat and Steve in expectation of one or both of them getting up and putting a stop to things before someone legitimately loses an eye.

Instead, Nat and Steve have placed bets of their own.

If Bucky wins, Nat has to wear the now infamous red, white and blue colors of Delta.

If Clint wins, Steve has to run the company obstacle course in high heels.

"Alpha sucks!" Scott suddenly jumps up and yells. Unlike Clint and Bucky, who are very sober and very serious, he's fucked beyond belief and soon to be regretting many of his life choices. "And swallows!"

There's a "So does your mom" response from someone on the back row. Steve's not really listening to the banter. He's more interested in the safety gear Bucky and Clint have donned to conduct their little experiment.

"I don't think those are regulation." Janet tilts her head to one side, an appreciative eye on the pink polka dot boxer shorts Clint is flashing to the world. Then Bucky turns around and his ass announces to the entire room that 'Cap was here' and Steve briefly considers drowning the both of them and calling it a draw.

"At least they’re wearing helmets?" Sam puts in helpfully. Which, yes. They’re wearing helmets. And they’re regulation as well. It makes for an interesting mix, helmets and boxers and fuck all else.

"We're professionals!" Bucky shouts back, fastening the clip of his under his chin. He bangs his fist on the edge. "Safety first."

And with that parting note, both he and Clint walk to their respective ends of the pool and climb somewhat awkwardly into the awaiting kayaks. Steve doesn't know where they even  _ found _ kayaks. He's eighty percent certain some kind of theft was involved, and for that reason he's not asking.

He's off duty. If his LT and his boyfriend want to climb into kayaks in an indoor pool, that's their fucking business. He's just here for the youtube footage.

There's isn't need to use oars to maneuver themselves into position. With one hand clutching their weapons of choice and the other used as a navigation tool, Bucky and Clint move opposite to each other, and Miles, who as eagerly been roped in to officiate the whole thing, loudly calls for silence.

He then holds an iPhone up in the air and a loud clock chime fills the air.

"Wait," Kamala says, leaning in so she’s next to Steve. "Are they having a duel?"

The iPhone chimes once, twice, three times...

"Yep," Sam answers.

...four, five, six, seven, eight...

"They’re dueling. In kayaks."

"In kayaks." Steve nods. There's enough whiskey left in the bottle that he will legitimately not remember enough to put in a report when he's inevitably forced to write one.

...nine, ten, eleven...

"Are those flare guns?" she asks, eyebrows rising as quickly as she does, ready to dive for cover behind Steve. Which, thinking about it, might not be such a bad idea. He can hide behind Sam.

...twelve...

With the final chime, Bucky and Clint both raise their respective flare guns and fire.

The last time they did this they had been in a river and the movement of the water had made the whole thing more challenging. In a pool, sober and in relatively controlled elements, there is less for them to worry about. At least when it comes to taking the shot.

In answer to the question of who is the superior marksman, they are going to need a rematch.

The flares collide head on in two perfect shots.

Then ricochet wildly.

Suddenly, being inside is a very, very bad idea.

Bucky's flare soars overhead and into the bleachers occupied by Delta Unit and their cheerleaders. Bodies dive wildly to avoid the flaming red missile and while no one is hurt with the impact, it takes less than ten seconds for half of the bleachers to enthusiastically catch fire.

Clint's flare does exactly the same on the opposite side of the room.

"Fuck," Steve sighs, mentally tripling the amount of paperwork he's going to have to do as he stands and starts evacuations.

 

* * *

 

It takes approximately thirty five minutes to burn down a building. That's a lot less than expected.

It takes forty five minutes for three Generals to descend on said burning building, each of them cranky as fuck and in no mood to listen to Steve as he explains that 'intra-team bonding activities unfortunately led to incidents of an incendiary nature, but fortunately the only casualty is a fifty year old building that should have been condemned in the eighties and two misappropriated flotation devices that might have been on loan from the local scouting group'. 

Natasha is suspiciously nowhere to be found, while Clint and Bucky - still in the boxers and helmets - are trying to explain to the local fire chief that ‘yes, of course they attempted to put out the fires, but apparently the building's fire hose had been taken out of commission earlier that year when inspections for Legionnaires Disease were being carried out and no, of course they would never fool around with flare guns, they are professionals and don't fool with anything.’

"These men are heroes," Wade explains tearfully, clutching at Bucky's bicep and sniffling, "and deserve medals."

They don't get medals. They don't get arrested either, but that's more down to Fury's desire to see them suffer forever and in the most miserable ways - something jail cannot provide, in his opinion.

"Of course that doesn't actually answer the question," Steve says later, his head still ringing from Fury's lamentations of his favorite - only - pool and the  interruption of his dinner plans. "We still don't know which of you is the better shot."

"I am, obviously," both Bucky and Clint exclaim. They're still half naked, and are passing the remains of Steve's whiskey between them.

Bucky rolls his eyes and tries to untangle his hair with his fingers. "So what exactly do you suggest?"

Steve shrugs his shoulder. "I don't know? Best out of three?"


End file.
